


Evening's Frustrations

by Xenadd



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Masturbation, PWP, Romance, Self-Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 15:56:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3494228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenadd/pseuds/Xenadd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long and tedious ball at Halamshiral, Cassandra finally relieves herself of her frustrations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evening's Frustrations

Cassandra Pentaghast, more exhausted and frustrated from an evening’s ball that she has ever been from any battle, finally finding seclusion in her chambers.

Grumbling and muttering to herself as she rips off her hateful dress uniform, pausing only when down to her smallclothes, jacket half-off. Leaning against the table and breathing, remember to breathe, trembling hand between her breasts. The foolishness of those people. Her other hand knocking the much beloved copy of Swords and Shields on the tabletop.

Goosebumps trailing up her belly, exposed to the cool air by her open jacket. She picks the book up, thumbing through the dogeared and well-read pages to her favourite chapter, that chapter. Her other hand trailing down and down the trail of goosebumps, skimming the line of her smallclothes.

Noises of disgust soon giving way to sighs of delight. Reading and moving in time, jacket slipping to her elbows, until she can no longer hold the book up, willingly giving herself over entirely to the sensations washing her frustrations away.

At the gentle click of the door she freezes, eyes flying open. Frantically pulling her hand from her small clothes, she drops the tome onto the table proper as she tries to straighten herself. Impossible without revealing her present state. She waits for the intruder to speak, perhaps an awkward apology or a mocking jab. Or even, Maker help her, a terrible pun. No doubt about Seekers and truth.

She gasps out a breath she didn’t know she was holding when small, strong hands trace the back of her waist. Along under her jacket, gently teasing the line of her smallclothes, coming to rest by her own so close to her curls. A nose nuzzling between her shoulder blades, a forehead pressing against her.

'Want me to lend a hand?'

Wordplay. The Inquisitor.

Frantically she tries to think of what to say, how to respond, an appropriate response. But before the hands have time to snake away, her head nods, entirely without permission. Despite her nod of acceptance, the hands disappear and she lets out a grunt of disappointment. Against her will once more. Betrayed by her desires.

A rustle behind her, a scrape on the table. One hand soon reappears on top of her own, guiding it back down down to her folds before rising back to gently rest on her bare belly. More rustling from behind, pages turning, goosebumps flooding her skin as she shivers in anticipation.

'Right. Where were you? Ah, I think I can see…'

**Author's Note:**

> The first half of this is another one that I wrote in a text (to the same friend - I don't whether or not I should apologise!). I think that the fact that I've been drabbling in texts is the reason for the odd tense choice - it's almost a more immediate tense? It's also incredibly awkward, so apologies.
> 
> I promise I think about other things, these are just my first steps back into fic writing.
> 
> Originally posted in two parts on Tumblr.


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